


Bedtime Story

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Series: Taming Dragons [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Taming Dragons [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733218
Kudos: 33





	Bedtime Story

It wasn’t the screaming that woke him. The countless angry and agonized voices, crying out their pain and hatred in tones that rang through his ears with the thunder of his own heartbeat. Nor was it the sticky wetness of thick blood coating his hands as he stared down at them in horror, though the coppery smell was enough to make him retch as he watched his fingers begin to tremble. Even the darkly hypnotic and terrifying song that echoed through the carnage was still a more welcome sight than the one that tore Estinien from the grips of his demons. From the nightmares where a familiar and beloved pair of blue eyes stared cold and empty up at him, their light forever snuffed out by his own hands.

The nightmares were by no means a new problem, and for the most part he managed to keep them to himself. Or at least...he had until the week they had spent atop Anyx Trine after their wedding. It had been the longest span of time that he had stayed with his new husband since leaving Ishgard what seemed like an eternity ago, and Estinien didn’t feel like lying to himself and trying to pretend he hadn’t greedily clung to every second that he could steal Aymeric away from his duties and they could just be together. He’d forgotten about the nightmares until their third night in the small camp when he’d thrashed himself awake to the sight of worried blue eyes and a gentle touch of concern. The unexpected vulnerability had been enough to have him burying his face in Aymeric’s chest with a choked whimper as roughened hands reassured himself that his beloved was hale and whole and unharmed.

He hadn’t considered that Aymeric would have been so dogged in his persistence to know the details of the nightmare; that “I remember not” would have been regarded with a look that plainly called him out on his horse shite and made him feel almost...ashamed of the attempt at redirecting Aymeric’s attention elsewhere. So he had sighed and opened up about it. At least… to a degree. It had been difficult enough to speak of finding himself once again in his childhood home on the day that Nidhogg had razed the village to ruin. To revisit that pain and guilt over his own survival and the feelings of weakness and inadequacy that had nurtured his hatred and desire for vengeance against the dread wyrm. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell the rest; of how the dream didn’t end there. Of how Ferndale would shift and twist in his mind, how the blackened and smoldering husks of buildings turned from wood to stone and morter, how Ferndale….became _Ishgard_. How the scattered forms of his neighbors...charred and smoking...became the bodies of his friends. Of… Aymeric. Or of the way he dropped to his shaking knees with a sob of grief and disbelief only to see the blood covering his hands….as those same hands sprouted scales and talons….and Nidhogg’s voice whispered mockingly into his mind.

Even recalling the dreams now turned his stomach and Estinien shook his head violently before taking another long swig of the strong whiskey. Thank the twelve that Aymeric had seemed to accept his explanation, and he had been so very careful since then to try and make certain to quell his restlessness and avoid waking the other man. Their sojourn atop the tower had passed without further incident and he had reluctantly delivered his husband back to Ishgard before slipping away again to his travels. And if those travels happened to bring him back towards Ishgard more often than they had before….well, he was simply keeping an eye on what was his. Which, his sarcastic mind prodded, was just a bloody poor excuse for the fact that as much as he couldn’t stand to be tied down to Ishgard...neither could he stand to be long away from Aymeric.

His husband was a wonderful man, and spared Estinien his dignity by graciously avoiding commentary on the increased frequency of the dragoon’s visits. Hells, Aymeric was certainly ecstatic to see him more often and he himself couldn’t deny that he found it harder and harder to leave each time once Aymeric drifted off to sleep. But that ensured that he didn’t wake his husband with his nightmares anymore. And on the nights that he couldn’t bring himself to leave...he had resolved to simply not sleep. Which gave ample time for reflection as well as for silent and almost awed admiration of the man sleeping at his side. Or curled against his chest. Or sprawled half across him - Aymeric tended to be a restless sleeper, often shifting and repositioning himself though nearly always managing to keep some measure of grip on Estinien. He found it quite endearing, though the way his husband clung to him also stirred motes of guilt; it was an unconscious expression of the fear that he knew Aymeric tried so hard to fight against. The fear that one day Estinien would leave….and not come back.

One day, he would discover a way to banish that fear from his husband forever, and Estinien nodded to himself as he took another hefty swig from the rapidly emptying bottle. This was….really good stuff, he’d have to ask Aymeric to get some more considering he had gone through 2 bottles already in the last hour. One of the downsides to staying curled up with his husband was how comfortable it was. And how easily it was to grow drowsy when he was paying more attention to the way that one dark lock of Aymeric’s fringe curled over his forehead just so….instead of on keeping himself awake. And the nightmare had returned with a vengeance. He’d thanked every one of the twelve that his husband was so exhausted that his thrashing and soft whimpered yelp hadn’t roused Aymeric before it had driven Estinien from their shared bed. The thought of waking the shorter man - Aymeric had told him before to do exactly that - was one that he considered for approximately a quarter of a second before discarding it. He would not burden his husband with his own inability to face his inner phantoms. But neither did he relish having to explain himself later if he simply vanished in the middle of the night.

A quick search of the cupboards in Aymeric’s study had revealed the cabinet of spirits and he had selected a bottle that he didn’t doubt had been chosen with him in mind; it was the stronger, more bitter stuff that he preferred. Plucking it from where he found it, Estinien grabbed one of the heavy crystal tumblers and settled himself at the small table with a sigh before pouring himself a drink. That should do to settle his nerves and take the edge off.

That had been a little over an hour ago, and his single drink had grown until he had gone in search of a second and then a third bottle. The burn in his throat and stomach had given way to the languid inebriation that would allow him to forget the horrifying images in his own mind and Aymeric never need know how much he was struggling with them. His Aymeric. His wonderful, loving, amazing husband who was sleeping soundly right….over….. Bleary crimson-shot blue eyes narrowed into a frown as he studied the bed intently. Hadn’t Aymeric been over there? He knuckled one fist into his eyes to take another look as his other hand groped for the bottle only to find it lifted out of reach just as his fingertips brushed the glass. “Estinien….whatever are you doing, love?”

The room spun wildly as he tilted his head back far too fast to look up at his husband. Clad only in a dark blue dressing gown as he hefted the half-full bottle in one hand and frowned down at Estinien with concern. The wobbling had the side of his head crashing into Aymeric’s stomach and he allowed it to rest there as he gave a loopy smile. “You’re….taller.” Aymeric’s frown deepened as his free hand gently combed straggling bangs from Estinien’s eyes. “No...you’re merely seated, Estinien. And also drunk, it would seem.” His expression shifted slightly as he made the easy connection between all the pieces with a sigh that was part exasperation and a twinge of hurt. “You had another nightmare. Yet instead of waking me, as I asked you to...you instead chose to drown yourself in liquor? Is the thought of confiding in me so distasteful?”

There was no anger in his tone, only disappointment and somehow that was worse as Estinien closed his eyes and leaned into those gentle fingers with a soft purr. “That...feels good. You were…..so tired. Not wish to….burden you.” Strange, his mouth seemed to be speaking without his permission. How rude of it to do so. He’d have to scold it later. “You have more important things to worry about than me.”

Aymeric’s eyes closed with another soft sigh as he kept up the gentle petting of touseled hair, combing fingers through strands and idly tucking them behind one of Estinien’s ears as he turned slightly to set the bottle out of reach. “Beloved….not only could you never be a burden to me...but there is not a thing in my life that could be more important to me than you are. I love you more than life itself, and I would offer you comfort ere you need it. You need only ask, my own.” His other hand dropped gently to Estinien’s shoulder as he gave a loving stroke to the scales there before he spoke again. “Will you perhaps tell me the truth of your nightmare, my own? No matter what it is, I would share it with you as I seek to share all of your troubles.”

Estinien had been possessed of no intent to reveal the true depth of his nightmare...but it seemed that his disobedient mouth had other ideas as with only slight coaxing from Aymeric he found himself speaking again in a halting and slightly slurred voice. “ ‘slike I said… ‘m back in Ferndale. Everyone’s dead, and I’m alone, only…..then it isn’t Ferndale. It’s Ishgard….and...and….all the people are….and it’s not my brother, it’s _you_ and I go to you and my hands are covered in blood and it’s _your_ blood because they’re _my_ talons and I can hear him laughing but it’s _my_ voice and….” He broke off with a sob and clung to Aymeric as his husband stared down in astonishment. It was obviously the alcohol that had opened the floodgates and brought about the sudden deluge of rambled words, but there was no doubt this had needed the lancing. He’d never seen Estinien cry like this, and Aymeric knelt down as he wrapped both arms around his husband and rocked him as much as he could with the slightly awkward angle. Whispering soft soothing sounds and reassurances as one hand stroked long hair and the other held the taller man tightly against him.  
“It isn’t real, love…. It’s only a nightmare. You are not the one who destroyed your home, and Ishgard yet stands. You would never harm me, Estinien… I _know_ that, as truly as I know my heart has been yours for nearly half of my life. Possessed by Nidhogg you may once have been...but you never _were_ Nighogg. You overcame him, my own… and here you remain.”

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, until the leg Aymeric was kneeling on began to tingle and smart with numbness and still he refused to move until he felt Estinien begin to relax and breathe easier. It was the work of very little deduction to understand that this had not been about merely the nightmare itself but perhaps years of repressed feelings and fears that had finally broken free and he hoped that Estinien could now begin to move beyond them. Aymeric shifted his weight to the other leg as he gingerly pulled them both to their feet and supported the wobbling Estinien as the taller man sagged against him. “Come on, love…. Into bed with you.”

Against his usual character, the dragoon only mumbled a soft protest as he allowed himself to be led over to the bed and tucked in. Turning to wrap himself tightly around Aymeric with a quiet whimper as his husband climbed in beside him. “I can’t sleep…..he’ll come back….” He whispered against skin as he tightened his arms around Aymeric’s waist. ‘He’ was obviously a reference to Nidhogg’s presence in his dreams, and Aymeric nodded as he returned to his gentle stroking of pale hair. “Then just try to relax, and I shall tell you a story.”

Normal Estinien would likely have made some snide comment that he was far too old for children’s stories. Drunk and frightened Estinien simply nodded with a quiet ‘alright’ as he settled closer against Aymeric. It was a little like soothing a child, and Aymeric allowed himself an offhand thought that perhaps one day they would together soothe away nightmares from a child before he leaned his head back in thought before smiling. “Once, there was a boy. He was a child born out of wedlock….unwanted by his mother and unacknowledged by his father despite the fact that many in his home already suspected whose son he truly was. It was arranged that the boy would be adopted by a noble family. Raised as their son, as their own trueborn sons had died.”

“Is this story about you?” Estinien asked, his voice slurred from the alcohol and Aymeric gently hushed him with a smile and a chuckle. “What a ridiculous notion. It’s only a story, my own. Just relax and listen.”

When he received no more complaints, Aymeric continued with his story as he allowed his thoughts to drift back over the years. “He never wanted for anything. Raised in privilege and given the best of education and training, but everywhere he went the whispers followed. Whispers of his true birth… of his paternity. The boy worked hard, for that was what he had been raised to value, and the whispers still dogged him. Every accomplishment shadowed with rumor. Cruel insinuation that they had been gained not through his own merit but rather because of the blood that was believed to flow in his veins. But rather than curse his own troubles, the boy allowed them to become his focus. He worked even harder than before, determined to achieve his dreams through naught but his own hard work despite what was thought of him. He believed that one day the terrible war that had raged in his homeland since before he was born could be ended and a new world forged from the ashes of the old. To that end, the boy trained as hard as he could, and ultimately became a knight. He was a step closer to his goals of making a better world and that made him happy despite the fact that he had few friends to speak of and fewer still who saw him for himself and not for who his father was said to be.”

Pausing, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Estinien’s head before continuing his tale. “And then came a fateful day. The boy who had since become a man accompanied his squadron of knights into battle against their foe. It was a brutal fight, and upon it’s completion all had perished. Save the young man and one other of his companions. A young knight who was he himself an orphan of the terrible war. This other man was so very different in demeanor and character than the young knight and yet...they were so very alike. Both driven by a need to make their world better. Both determined to survive and succeed. And both understanding loneliness in a way that others did not. And despite their differences, and despite several failed attempts to engage the other man in conversation… the young knight was unable to keep his mind from his companion. He was...captivated in a way that he had never experienced before. Thus can you imagine his relief when amongst the bodies of his squadron he found the stoic man to be alive and unharmed save a few minor aches. He bade them return to the Holy See, but the other knight…. Refused. He had wounded their foe, you see, and was resigned to see the battle to its true conclusion even were it to come at the cost of his own life.”

Estinien had quieted, his breathing slowing a bit and Aymeric smiled to himself as he let his voice soften as he continued. “His conviction struck the other man, tis true...but it was not that which led our hero to follow the stoic knight. And it was not conviction that allowed him to arrive in time to loose an arrow from his bow and weaken their enemy so that the final blow could be struck. No...it was something that he saw in those blue eyes that day. Something….that still defies any attempt he makes to quantify it with words. Something….that struck not his mind, but his heart.” Craning his head just a little, he continued even softer as he saw that Estinien had drifted off to sleep curled up against him. “And what was it, you ask? What was it that so captivated and ensnared our hero’s heart….striking deep into the core of him like a brand that would ere remain?” Aymeric shifted as slowly as he could to where he could curl around Estinien with a gentle whisper into his husband’s ear. “Well….if ever I discover just what it was that made me fall in love with you, then you shall be the first one to know, my own.”


End file.
